2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 88: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

88 “Waz-al, where to begin,” Shane stammered. “Yuh see, Webb, this being a lawdog ‘is a tough job. A gent sorta has to forget he’s human and that’s mighty hard sometimes. Reckon every sheriff has a day when he wonders which he’s gonna serve—his badge or his- self. And when a gent’s had hisself pulled out of the Canadian on a trail drive and nursed through a seige of smallpox, it’s sorta hard to for- rate “If I saved yore carcass a couple of times,” Webb interjected feeling- ly, “it was because I had the chance. Reckon yuh’d ’a’ done likewise.” “Just the same, a lot of water’s gone under the bridge for us two, old-timer,’ Anvil Shane said, hushed- voiced. “So here’s my _ say-so. If the Jumping Jack shows up _ to- ' morrow, he'll get cut to pieces. It’s my job to jail that gent—and maybe I’ll have to do it some day. But there’s a helluva lot of difference between jailin’ a hombre and spillin’ his guts with’a scattergun!”’ “I savvy,” Webb said evenly. “I sav- vy and I’m thankin’ yuh, pard.” His words trailed away for a shad- ow had fallen between the two men as Bert Freeman stood framed in the doorway. For a moment he paused there. Nodding cordially, he strede through the room and into the kitch- en. Watching him go, Webb wondered how long Bert had been on the porch, how much of the talk he had heard. And wondering, he remembered the things he, Webb, might say to the sheriff. But Webb’s tongue was locked. Anvil Shane wasn’t sure Bert was the Jumping Jack. Otherwise the sheriff would be doing his duty—ar- resting Bert. At showdown Shane would be true to his badge but for the time being he had side-stepped duty to warn Webb of the death trap waiting the Jumping Jack. And with Bert out there in the kitchen, Webb knew he was going to side-step his obvious duty too. He walked to the gate with Shane in silence and when the lawman clam- bered into his saddle Webb shook his hand, a long, hard grasp eloquent or his unspoken gratitude. Then he watched Shane lope away. I don’t exactly know 2-GUN WESTERN Returning to the house, Webb found Bert preparing supper. The oldster helped. Bert, facing him across the table later, spoke for the first time. “Wasn't the sheriff Saying some- thing about a trap for the Jumping Jack just before I walked in?” he asked between mouthfuls. ~Y €8,— Webb replied and Sante Bert’s eyes. “Of course it’s sort of confidential like, but the stage will be loaded with gunnies tomorrow. They'll get that gent for shore if he’s crazy enough to show up.” Covertly he watched for a sign as he spoke but Bert gave none. Still, the warning had been passed along. At least Bert wouldn’t tackle the Missoula stage on the morrow. Webb carried that consolation to bed with him and was. gladened next day to see that Bert lingered near the ranch house. SO aden him from the’ porch, Webb knew the first measure of contentment he had tasted in a long time. Perhaps the news of the gun- trap had sobered Bert, started him thinking of the odds that are perpet- ually stacked against those who ride the owlhoot. Maybe Shane would never learn the whole truth and Bert might still become the kind of son Webb had hoped he would be. Those were peaceful thoughts and, lingering over them, Webb felt as though a load had been lifted from his heart. His chin sank upon his chest for it was a warm, pleasant day and under the spell of the smiling skies and his re-born hopes he began to doze. He awoke with a start. Shadows were spearing downward and the day was dying fast. Coming to his feet, Webb entered the house, found it empty. Half-stunned by a budding fear, he lurched into the yard, called Bert’s name. Only his echo answered him. Bert was gone! And with the reali- zation, Webb knew Bert had gone to stop the Missoula stage. The boy had been warned but there was one thing Webb had forgotten, a thing Anvil Shane had put into words when he had said Bert was ready for a man’s work but didn’t have a man’s judg- ment. For Bert, with all the self- oO GOmichbooks (S©@) im